


Wait 'till you sea my dick

by Bobsled_Hostage



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Dubious Consent, F/M, Large Insertion, Piercings, Piratestuck, Power Imbalance, Restraints, Sexual Slavery, Size Kink, survival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobsled_Hostage/pseuds/Bobsled_Hostage
Summary: Wait ‘till you sea my dickWait ‘till you sea my dick)(ey beachWait ‘till you sea my dickI’ma beat that pus-sea up Captain Meenah drives a hard bargain for the safety of the Crab Crew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SybLaTortue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybLaTortue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [blingkat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/188737) by [hoarous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoarous/pseuds/hoarous). 



If you’d had a head start, there’s a slim chance you’d have been able to outrun the _Goldfish_.  If the wind had been with you, if you’d spotted them sooner, and maybe if you’d been captaining another ship entirely.

As it stood, you had just enough time to say your goodbyes and hope that the first broadside killed you first, so you didn’t have to watch your friends and lovers die around you.  Sure, the captain goes down with the ship, but, coward that you are, you’d rather accelerate the process than be confronted with the results of yet another miserable failure on your part.

Of course, they didn’t even grant you that courtesy.  Someone had to point out that the black flag the enormous frigate was flying was actually a flag of _parley_ .  That the semaphore they flashed was a demand that _the vagabond who calls himself captain of the smuggling vessel ‘Crabdad’ is to come aboard immediately to face the Empress’ Justice._

The vote was unanimous: no way in hell were they handing you over, they were going to fight or run or several even dumber ideas.  You told them they were fucking idiots and this wasn’t a democracy.  They voted unanimously to mutiny.  You rolled your eyes and, against all attempts to stop you, climbed into one of the longboats, reminding them that this wasn’t the worst spot you’d ever been in.

As you pulled yourself closer to the intimidating bulk of the frigate, stroke by stroke, you reflected that IF THEY TRY TO STRING YOU ALL UP NEXT TO ME, THERE ARE ENOUGH PISTOLS TO GO AROUND FOR EVERYONE isn’t the last thing you wish you’d said to any of them.

 

On the deck, you stood chained (as if you were going anywhere) and resplendent in your brightest red jacket while the first mate read the list of charges against you.  You had worried on the way over that you’d tremble or stutter or otherwise embarrass yourself, but Sufferer’s Globes, leave it to this idiot to make flaying, drawing and quartering sound boring.

That’s when the captain grabbed your ass.

As the pompous fop blathered on and on about adjudicating captures and letters of marque, the sea-troll, hand still on your butt, whispered that maybe the two of you could a-ray-nge somefin.  You thought you’d found an easy way out.  The last idiot fish who’d collared you had proven a total pushover, and whatever this one wanted, it was worth it to save your crew’s lives.

It wasn’t until she actually had you in her quarters, chained and naked as the day you were hatched, that you realized who you were dealing with, and what a big mistake you’d just made.

 

 

NOPE!  You scoot backward out of her lap as quickly as possible, knees pressed together and hackles raised.  She freezes reaching for your waist, fins twitching quizzically.   I CHOOSE HANGING.  You gesture wildly with one hand, the other pulled along by the manacles still fastened around your wrists (and wasn’t it fun getting you undressed with those on).   A THOUSAND LASHES, HOT IRONS, WHATEVER YOU WANT.  NO WAY IS THAT FUCKING THING GOING INSIDE ME.

She realizes what you’re talking about, looks down at the dark-pink leviathan she was somehow hiding in her sheathe.  Shell, guppy, it ain’t _that_ big.  She grins.    But don’t fin-k I ain’t flattered anywave.

IT’S THE SIZE OF MY ARM!

No it ain’t .  It most certainly is.  She runs her tongue over her teeth and you scoot as far away as you can, backed up to where her huge bed meets the wall.   An’ ya got nubby little arms anemoneway.

FUCK YOU, NO I DON’T.  Shit, she’s leaning toward you, fins folded back flat against her face,   THEY’RE-

She lunges, catching you around the waist.  You shriek and try your best to shove her off, which gets you a hand pinning your arms above your head and a knee prying your legs apart.  Her claws prick your wrist, a not-so-gentle warning to stop squirming and let nature take its course.

C’mon,  she whispers in your ear.   Yer a grown ass bouey, you can hake it.

You don’t know if you can hake it.  She contorts herself to fit her head and long, long horns inside the arc of your chained wrists, so that your arms are around her shoulders, like your legs are around her waist.

There, now just hang on to Cap’n Meenah and shell make ya eel _reel good._

You’re ready to start begging now.  She smells like fish and sex and a million years of instinct telling you to quit wriggling and open your legs.  You think of the look on Jade’s face when she thought you were all going to die. Dave trying to pull you back as you lowered yourself over the side

This is happening and you can’t back out.

Then she tells you to hake a deep breath, bay-b, and in spite of everything you want to smack her because you aren’t some blushing virgin.  But holy shit you wish you’d listened, because the thickest bulge you’ve ever seen slides inside of you, and it just keeps coming

And coming.

And coming.

You’ve taken a fist or two in your time, sure, but that was on your own ship, safe in your quarters, with people you loved and trusted.  You weren’t sitting chained in a seadweller’s lap, hyperventilating while she took what she wanted in exchange for your crew’s lives. 

She must have realized you’re starting to panic, because now she rubs your sides and whispers about how good you feel, crushing your face into her chest while she feeds inch after inch of bulge into you.  You do hang on to Cap’n Meenah, in spite of yourself, because you really need something to wrap yourself around besides a humongous, icy cold fish dick.  The nerve clusters in the walls of your nook are practically squashed into oblivion by the enormous intruder, punishing you with constant pulses of sensation that make you want to both puke and to spread yourself open to take even more of her bulge.

You’ve gotten your breath back to the point where you cry out every time it undulates further inside you.  By curling it around itself at the end she’s able to get almost the whole thing in your nook, at the cost of an even tighter fit that has you clenching your arms around her as tight as you can and waiting for the ache and the feeling of being ripped apart to stop.

Sea?   She kisses a horn like this is a genuine red encounter.   It ain’t that bad.

EASY FOR YOU TO SAY,  you can just about manage to respond, YOU’VE NEVER FUCKING HAD IT INS-

She flexes it, cutting off the spew of invective headed her way.  Keep whalin’, fish,  your captor murmurs in your ear while you chirp and keen helplessly, her arms holding you almost as tightly as your nook holds her bulge.  Let yer little fronds hear what happens when ya _shuck_

Flex

_ with _

Flex

_ the  _

Flex

_ glubbin’  _

Flex

_ Empire! _

You bite her shoulder with your blunt teeth to muffle a scream and squirt bright red slurry all over both your abdomens.  Some legendary pirate captain you are, cumming with )(IC’s descendant (and you’re positive now that’s who it is, _what the fuck have you got yourself into?_ ) crammed as far as she’ll go inside you, hanging on to her for dear life.

And of course she doesn’t stop.  Just laughs, grabs your ass and keeps pumping you with her painfully large bulge.

Cod yoar so hot, littorally.  You dare look up from where your face is pressed to her chest.  She looks down at you like the predator she is, fins twitching and gills flaring with every thud of her bloodpusher, which you know because you can feel her pulse through her massive bulge.

Not the first mutie I ever pailed, but coddamn if yer nook ain’t a dam sight betta than the last one.

The second orgasm hits and she doesn’t let up.  Keeps rolling the length of her giant bulge, flicking the tip and rubbing your inner walls (how the hell does she have that much size _and_ control?).  Everything below your waist feels like a soupy mess of slurry and pain.  Sore doesn’t even begin to describe how you’ll feel if you get out of this alive.

Cap’n Meenah digs her claws into your ass and orders you to NNN)(, get ready, beach, and that’s all the warning you get before she unleashes a tidal wave of slurry.  If you were full before, you’re ready to burst now.  Your distressed thrashing and frantic clawing at her back gets you a pair of tyrian-strong arms holding you in place and a set of razor sharp teeth in your shoulder: An unmistakable order to stay still, and if something inside you ruptures, so be it.  Jet after jet of seed pumps into your genesac, bloating you with royal cum, spilling and soaking you inside and out.  Just get through this and you’ll live.  Just survive that last spurt and you’ll get to go home.  With a groan of relief, she bumps her hips one last time as the flow tapers off, sloshing you around and hurting you just that little bit more before it’s over.  You want your moirail.

Thank god she finished before you started sobbing.  You get to keep that tiny bit of dignity.  

You’re absolutely wrecked.  If you never fill a pail again, it’ll be too soon.  The fishtroll laughs, slips out from between your still-chained arms, slides her bulge out of your poor, ravaged nook, uncorking a further gush of slurry that didn’t make it into your genesac.

Not bad, nubs.  Might mako a nice lil’ warmup befoar I go to work on yer fronds.

You sit bolt upright, or try to, before doubling over again in pain.

Aw, relax, I’m shuckin’ with ya.  Meenah cackles again and rolls over to sneak an arm around you.  Kisses you again, like a matesprit would, like that doesn’t make it worse.   I’ll keep ya ‘till you can walk st-ray-tght, an’ you can leave like nofin happened.

...HOW THE FUCK COULD I EVER REFUSE SUCH A KIND OFFER?  IF THIS IS WHAT YOU’VE GOT TO SHOW IN THE WAY OF HOSPITALITY, MAYBE I’LL JUST STAY HERE FOREVER! HOW COULD A LIFE OF PIRACY POSSIBLY HOPE TO COMPARE WITH-

Oh you can gimme as much carp as ya want, guppy, she presses a hand to your abdomen, making you cringe,  ‘long as ya don’t mind when I get tide-red of yer beachin’ and find somefin to put in yer mouth.

Nothing has ever convinced you to shut up so quickly, as much as you hate yourself for being that easily cowed.  But she uncuffs your hands, gives you somewhere to wash a little and spill your slurry in private.  You don’t want to be anywhere near her, but you crawl into her bed and manage to sleep a little curled up in her arms, because that’s what she wants, and you are _not_ fucking up this exchange now.  Not after all that.

 

 

You wait until you’re back aboard the _Crabdad_ , after kissing and hugging and touching everyone and reassuring them you’re ok and everyone gets to live, after you’re sure the _Goldfish_ and its hideous pink and gold sails have long disappeared over the horizon, before you let yourself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing it I thought it was going to be silly and fun.
> 
> Karkat is far too headstrong to be kept as Meenah’s personal concubine aboard the Goldfish. I think we can all agree that would be really unfortunate if, in her search for a hot blooded mutant to keep as a bed warmer, she found a troll who resembled Karkat and had his same hemotype, but lacked his willpower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _On that big bass bed I th-row-ed him_   
>  _Beach never saw such a dick that I showed him_

Your friends never hesitated to tell you that you talked too much.  Walking out of the room when you tried to educate them on how something they’d said could be taken the wrong way.  Climbing out of earshot when you asked them what they thought of your latest treatise or apologia.  Even clamping a hand over your mouth when they  JUST COULDN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE .

Captain Meenah got sick of listening to you almost instantly and, in addition to the numerous rings and bars she put through your skin, gave you a tongue stud, in the hopes that by the time you were able to speak again you’d know to  shut your glubbin’ mouth unless you’re shuckin’ bulge.

Your friends never missed an opportunity to make fun of your clothes.  Whistling and catcalling at how great your ass looked, tearing your ruffles whenever they manhandled you (in a gross violation of your personal space and bodily autonomy), soaking you with brine and seaweed every time one of them pushed you off the plank in full regalia.

Meenah ( _Captain _ Meenah, you remind yourself, shuddering at the fresh memory of the last time you forgot her title) decided that you looked better dressed in bangles, piercings and nothing else.

Your friends pailed you sometimes, a violation of your vows you allowed because (you’re weak) they’re special to you and you wanted to share that part of you with them.

Captain Meenah laughed when you brought it up.   Fin with me, but I fish I could tell ya the rest of the crew will sea it the same wave. The veiled threat wasn’t lost on you.

 

The rings ache when you move.  And when you sit still.  You’ve been soaking them in salt water like she said, but the latest set is right through your grubscars and they  _ hurt _ .  It wouldn’t be so bad if you could at least go out on the deck every once in awhile, but you’re not making that mistake again, attired as you are (which is to say, scarcely attired at all).  Not that any of the crew would dare lay a hand on the Captain’s prize.  But all those  _ eyes _ , the things they said they’d  _ do  _ to you if they could just get their claws into you.  You’ve stayed safely in her cabin since then.

Which is why, despite all your principles regarding respecting other trolls’ privacy and property and so on, you’re rifling through the Captain’s closet, looking for something in your size.

Sea anyfin ya pike?

You most certainly don’t shriek (though so what if you did?  Any troll would in your circumstances) before whirling around to face her.  Unfortunately, you also don’t drop the pair of lacy bloomers you fished out of one of her drawers, against your better judgement.  She looks at them, then up at you.  Licks her lips, fins fluttering with obvious excitement.

Shell yeah, I betta those would look reel nice stretched around yoar cute little bass.

I was merely c9ld and l99king f9r s9mething t9 wear.  I (quite sensi6ly, I sh9uld think) 6egan with the ‘69tt9m layer,’ as it were, th9ugh-

Well get over here, she grins, I’ll warm ya up, crabsnack.

F9rgive me if I d6n’t 6elieve that f9r a sec9nd.  Th9ugh it may 6e imp9litic of me t9 say s9, f9r which I app9l9gize, there is n9 way s9me9ne 9f y9ur hem9caste c9uld impart 6ody heat t9 s9me9ne 9n the 9pp9site end 9f the spectrum, such as myself.  Y9u are clearly using my 96vi9us disc9mf9rt as an avenue to s9licit me sexually, a fact which I neither appreciate n9r-

She roughly pulls you against her, interrupting you yet again, hands exactly as icy cold as you just said they’d be.

How aboat this, mutie:

I d9n’t kn9w h9w many times I have t9 insist that-

Her hand comes down on your ass, hard, shutting you up.  She’s not wearing anything under her overcoat.

Get into these right glubbin’ now-  she slips a finger into the waistband of the underwear you’re still clutching with one hand,  an’ I forget all aboat my plan to bling out somefin’ a little lower down.  Her hand ghosts over the rings in your grubscars and you whimper.  It comes to rest over your sheathe and you try to squirm away, but by now your bulge has learned that frigid fingers mean it’s time to come out.  She grabs what’s already extruded, gives it a squeeze that makes you shiver.

Get my drift?

Eyes shut, you nod once.  Something big (you know what it is) wriggles beneath the fabric of her jacket at about waist level.

You really, really hope your friends come to rescue you soon.  Or that they’re coming at all.


End file.
